Not one of the sweet, innocent pieces wardrobe usually hands me—no baby pinks or delicate lace here. This is Agent Provocateur, all black and structured lines. The corset feelsdecadent in my hands, its boning firm yet flexible. There are sheer stockings with delicate seams up the back and a garter belt that makes my cheeks flush just looking at it.
I catch myself in the mirror again, holding the corset against my body, and my reflection startles me. Heat creeps up my neck as I imagine wearing it. No man has ever bought me lingerie before.
Sure, I’ve worn plenty for movies—always sweet, always safe, always carefully chosen so as not to tarnish my image.
But this is different.
This is meant to be seen.
To seduce.
The silk whispers against my skin as I trace the intricate patterns, and I realize I’m holding my breath. There’s a force in these pieces—a dangerous, thrilling kind I’ve never let myself explore. The kind that makes good girls bite their lips and bad girls smirk.
This is pure Dante Hastings—bold, unapologetic, daring me to step out of my comfort zone.
Looking in the mirror, I see someone who’s capable of being those things too.
I think about all those fierce women in movies I love—Blunt kicking butt inEdge of Tomorrow, Theron owning every scene inAtomic Blonde, Yeoh moving like poetry inCrouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.
They make being strong and desired look darn good.
My hands shake a little as I put on each piece of lingerie. Every lacy bit feels like giving the middle finger to my good-girl image. The red dress hugs every curve I usually hide.
The mask feels heavy as I tie it on. Just like that, I’m not Reese Sinclair anymore. I’m whoever I want to be tonight.
My phone buzzes.
He’s here.
One last glance in the mirror, and I barely recognize myself. The mask helps, sure, but it’s my eyes that stop me—they’re blazing with something I always keep locked away. My heart’s racing against the corset as I head for the door, each click of these heels taking me farther from the old me.
No turning back now.
Tonight, I’m not asking for permission to be bad.
I’m taking it.
Chapter 16
Dante
Reese gripsthe edge of the boat rail, as if she’ll topple over with one sudden movement. Ramsey looms beside her. After much protest, the Volto mask I got him hangs ridiculously on his face. Around us, the beautiful and the damned drink champagne behind their masks, safe in their anonymity.
Crater Lake sleeps, or pretends to. Tonight, it belongs to people who bend reality with black cards and backroom deals. But this party isn’t about money—it’s about knowing which doors to knock on, which palms to grease. The cave’s location passes through whispers in penthouses, traded like currency. Wizard Island looms ahead like a dark promise. Our boat cuts through black water, prow slicing past pines.
Music pulses somewhere beyond the dock, while water runs down cave walls like tears of light. Each droplet catches the lanterns’ glow.
My eyes flit to the gorgeous gown hugging every curve of her body. Did she dare put on the lingerie? My fingers itch to find out.
“You didn’t tell me there was going to be water,” she groans.
“Almost over, sweetheart.” The endearment feels dangerous in my mouth as I wrap my arm around her shoulder. She doesn’t bristle at my touching her. A win.
“I hate you,” she lies.
“Too bad you’re stuck with me for the next couple hours. Unless you’d like to swim back to shore.” She shakes her head profusely, like I asked her to eat a worm. “You did get up to twenty-five seconds tonight.”
“You seriously are the worst,” she lies again.
